Long Time Gone (25 page)

“She was at the funeral,” I told them, “but I haven’t seen her since.”

Mel had joined us in time to hear the news. “Whoa,” she said. “That puts things in a whole new light. Hold on while I go ask Tom Landreth if he’s seen his wife.”

I watched while Mel wove her way through the crowd. When she spoke to Landreth, I could see he was somewhat befuddled. He looked around the room and shook his head in a dazed way. In other words, he didn’t know where his wife was either.

Mel was coming back toward me when Sister Elizabeth appeared at my elbow. “Excuse me, Mr. Beaumont, but have you seen Sister Mary Katherine? We were about to leave when she said she wanted to go outside. Now I can’t find her.”

There are times in my life when I simply know things. The sudden sinking sensation I felt in the pit of my stomach told me this was one of these times. I had seen Sister Mary Katherine walking meditatively through the house. If she had stepped outside, I had a pretty good idea of where she might have gone—back to pay a final visit to her old hiding place, the secret hidey-hole that had once saved her life. The problem was, there was a good chance Bill Winkler might be hiding there right now.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” Jackson demanded. “What’s going on?”

There wasn’t time to explain. I turned to Mel. “Are you wearing a vest?”

“After this morning, are you kidding? I wouldn’t leave home without it.”

And neither would I.

By the time I made my way through the crowd to the front door, I was having second thoughts. I already knew Bill Winkler was armed. There were far too many people here for the kind of confrontation that might well ensue. I stopped on the porch outside. The sun had come out, bringing with it a brilliantly blue sky. I think I would have been happier if it had been raining.

“We need more people,” I said. Nodding, Detective Jackson reached for his phone. I turned to Sister Elizabeth, who had followed us out onto the porch. “I think whatever’s going down will happen behind the house next door,” I said. “Back there in the greenhouse. Until we know for sure, we have to keep everyone else inside. No one comes in or goes out. Can you do that?” Nodding, Sister Elizabeth stepped back inside.

“You think Bill Winkler’s back there, too?” Mel asked.

“I’d bet money on it.”

Detective Jackson was on his phone. As I spoke, he relayed everything I said to Dispatch. “You want all the neighboring streets cordoned off?” he asked at last.

“ASAP,” I said. “These two houses share a common backyard. I’ll go up between the houses and see what I can see. Kendall, you take the far end of this house. Hank, you go to the far end of the one next door.”

“What about me?” Mel asked.

For half a second I was torn. On the one hand, I didn’t want to do anything that would put Melissa Soames in any more danger than she already was. On the other hand, there wasn’t anyone else I wanted watching my back. I had lobbied hard against having another partner, but it seemed God had given me one anyway.

“You’re with me,” I said.

Sticking close to the wall of the house where the Dunleavys had once lived—the house where Elvira Marchbank had died—Mel and I made our way up the shared driveway. When I could peek around the corner, I half expected to see the run-down building and the weedy backyard Sister Mary Katherine had described. Instead I saw a state-of-the-art greenhouse and a well-tended expanse of yard.

From the greenhouse came the sound of voices. I motioned for Mel to be still in hopes we could hear what was being said.

“I’m leaving now,” Bill Winkler announced. “The only question is whether or not you’re coming with me.”

“I’m afraid,” Raelene returned. “There are too many cops.”

“And they all know that I shot a cop, too,” Winkler replied. “Even if they haven’t already, they’ll figure out the rest of it soon enough. We’ve got to get out of here. Now.”

As Winkler spoke, he and Raelene stepped out of the greenhouse.

There they are,
I thought.
But where the hell is Sister Mary Katherine?

The words had barely crossed my mind when Sister Mary Katherine appeared, stepping like an apparition out from a sheltered spot between the greenhouse and a towering laurel hedge.

“You won’t get away,” she said. “I know who you are.” She turned on Bill Winkler and added, “When I first saw you, I thought I was seeing a ghost. But you’re his son, aren’t you—Detective Winkler’s son. You look just like him.”

“Who the hell are you?” Bill Winkler asked.

But Raelene knew the answer. “She’s the nun I told you about,” Raelene said. “She’s the one who started all the trouble.” I heard the note of rising hysteria in Raelene’s voice. By then she must have realized that things were going terribly wrong.

I knew for sure that Bill Winkler had a weapon. But the automatic wasn’t in his hand right then, and he and Raelene were so mesmerized by the unexpected appearance of Sister Mary Katherine that I knew this was our only chance.

“Come on,” I whispered over my shoulder to Mel. “You go for Raelene; I’ll take Winkler.”

Adrenaline is a wonderful thing. I was never much good at distance, but I can sprint like hell when I have to. So can Mel, I came to discover. We burst out from behind the house, screaming like banshees. I hit Bill Winkler with a full-body tackle before his hand got anywhere near his pocket. We both fell backward, and the weight of our two bodies together was enough to shatter the glass in the greenhouse wall.

I heard the sound of falling glass tinkling around us. It seemed to be falling in slow motion, reflecting back the sun as though someone had thrown out an armload of diamonds. Somehow Winkler had managed to extract the automatic from his pocket as we fell, but when he hit the ground the impact of the fall popped the weapon out of his hand. It flew up in the air and landed a good ten feet away. Winkler hit the ground hard and was immediately out cold. Looking back, I could see Raelene and Mel still struggling on the wet ground.

Kendall Jackson arrived on the scene first. He grabbed me by the shoulder, dragged me off Winkler, and hauled me to my feet. “You’re hurt,” he said.

That was when I realized there was blood dripping down the side of my face and running into my eye. As I was unable to see, my first instinct was to use my sleeve to wipe it away.

“Don’t,” Jackson admonished. “There’s glass everywhere. You’ll get it in your eye.”

Out of my other eye I saw Detective Ramsdahl pull Raelene to her feet and snap a pair of handcuffs on her. As soon as she could, Mel hurried over to me. “Damn,” she said. “Come on. I’ll take you to the hospital.”

“Does anyone want this?” Sister Mary Katherine asked. I looked around in time to see that she was using her thumb and forefinger and gingerly holding Bill Winkler’s weapon by the barrel.

“Isn’t that how you’re supposed to do it?” she asked. “So you don’t wreck the fingerprints on the handle?”

Having just cuffed the unconscious Bill Winkler, Kendall Jackson reached for his pocket. “That’s exactly right, lady,” he said. “You hang on to that thing while I find an evidence bag.”

M
EL WASN
’
T WILLING TO WAIT
around for more cops or an ambulance. She took me to the emergency room herself—in a hell of a hurry. Instead of going to Harborview, she opted for the U. Dub hospital only a mile or so away.

People who arrive at ERs puking, bleeding, screaming, or all of the above tend to get treated faster than those who have invisible ailments or who are willing to suffer in silence. I was only bleeding, and what Mel did wasn’t exactly screaming, but once she got the young resident’s attention and he took a good look at her, he was suddenly far more interested in my plight. It turned out that Mel Soames was handy to have around for more than one reason.

She spent the next two and a half hours sitting beside my gurney in the ER while the doctor picked glass out of my face and hands. They had to shave half my head to sew up a jagged cut that went from my hairline to just over my ear. Mel teased me that eventually it would look just like Harry Potter’s scar, only in the wrong place. Then she took me home.

As we rode up in the Belltown Terrace elevator I noticed the blood—my blood this time—that was spattered on both her blouse and blazer. The knees of her slacks were grimy with grass stains. “I can’t take you anywhere nice,” I said.

She gave me a rueful grin. “I told you I was messy.”

The doc had given me something for the pain before we left the hospital. By the time we got to my condo, I was done for. When she began stripping off my clothes, I was too out of it to object. Once I was in bed, she closed the blinds, shut off the lights, and left me drifting off to sleep.

When I awakened, it was daylight. The clock beside the bed said 10:09, which meant I had been asleep for the better part of twelve hours. My head hurt, I was still feeling groggy, and I had to pee like a racehorse. A look in the mirror was nothing short of scary. Half my head had been shaved, the stitches were ugly as hell. My face and hands were pitted with dozens of cuts that hadn’t been big enough to sew up.

Showering was a painful process. I remembered the doc telling me not to get my head wet, so I did the best I could. When it came time to towel off I found out there were plenty of tiny shards of glass that he hadn’t managed to locate with his tweezers.

It was when I was coming out of my bathroom that I smelled coffee and heard the sound of voices. I stood at the door long enough to pick out Beverly Piedmont’s voice as well as Mel’s, chatting away quite happily. Realizing I had company, I went back to the closet and found something to wear.

“There he is,” Beverly said cheerfully when I finally wandered down the hall and into the dining room. “Alive,” she added, “but looking a little the worse for wear.” Of course, since she was still in a wheelchair, I didn’t figure Beverly had much room to talk.

I was astonished to discover that my living room was full of people, including Harry I. Ball and Ross Connors in addition to both my grandparents. Sister Mary Katherine was there along with Sister Elizabeth and a third nun I’d never met before. What the hell were all these people doing here? They all had coffee cups and plates loaded with food. Couldn’t they all do Sunday brunch somewhere else?

Mel Soames came in from the kitchen just then carrying the coffeepot and wearing the pair of sweats that I keep on hand in the guest bedroom, which meant that she’d evidently spent the night.

“They came over to check on you and see how you’re feeling,” she said.

I’ve always considered myself something of a loner, but with all these well-wishers crammed into my apartment, maybe it was time to change my attitude.

“How are you feeling?” Mel asked.

“I’ve felt better,” I acknowledged.

“Coffee?”

When I nodded, she gave me a smile that went all the way to the bone. For some unaccountable reason Mel Soames was actually glad to see me. Maybe I was feeling slightly better.

“You could just as well have the rest of your head shaved,” Beverly observed. “You look pretty silly going around half-and-half that way.”

Mel filled a mug of coffee and put it on the table in front of me. “Paul Kramer’s going to be fine,” she said, answering my next question before I had a chance to ask.

The doorbell rang. Lars hobbled over to the door. When he opened it, Ralph and Mary Ames walked in carrying an armload of flowers and a grocery bag full of bagels and cream cheese. Mel and Mary went off to the kitchen to arrange the flowers and food. Count on Ralph to remember that my cupboard would be bare when it came to entertaining a houseful of company. That’s the thing about Ralph. He knew there wouldn’t be enough food to go around, so he went right ahead and did something about it.

“I hear you’ve been throwing yourself through greenhouse walls,” Ralph said. “Don’t you know any better than that? By the way, Ron and Amy were just parking as we were coming up.” He moved one of the dining-room chairs out of the way so Ron would be able to roll directly up to the table.

“I’ll start another pot of coffee,” Mel said from the kitchen. “We’re running low again.”

By then, despite my best efforts, I was starting to feel a bit grumpy. It was like I was hosting a party and had forgotten to invite myself. This time when Mel returned from the kitchen she brought a glass of water and a single white pill. “Take it,” she said. “It’ll help.”

Ron and Amy showed up, and Ron looked every bit as bad as I felt, but he was too concerned about how I was feeling to pay much attention to his own difficulties. “How’s Heather?” I asked.

“She’s having a tough time of it,” Ron said. “She’s spending a lot of time with Dillon’s dad. As far as I know, his mother still hasn’t shown up.”

I looked at Amy. “And your folks?” I asked.

She shook her head and didn’t answer. I didn’t blame her. She had been betrayed by her sister and then lost her sister. Only time would tell if the difficulties and strife Molly Wright had brought into Amy and Ron’s home would ever be put right. Or be forgiven.

Ross Connors got up from a perch on the window seat. “Mr. and Mrs. Peters?” he asked. “Ross Connors. Please accept my sincere condolences on everything you’ve been through in the last week or so. I had people working the problem all last night. They managed to find some credit-card activity on Ms. Wright’s account at a Tacoma area convenience mart shortly before Rosemary Peters was murdered. We picked up the market’s security camera film early this morning. After reviewing it my people tell me that both Mr. Middleton and Ms. Wright show up on the video. They’re driving your vehicle, but they’re clearly the only ones there. No one else is with them.”

“So Heather’s in the clear, then?” Ron asked.

“Yes,” Ross said. “I believe she is. That, combined with Dillon’s last e-mail, make for pretty convincing evidence. I can’t imagine any prosecutor in the state wanting to take it on.”

Ron heaved a sigh of relief. Without a word, Amy reached over, took his hand, and held it.

“As for your Camry,” Ross continued, taking out one of his business cards, “I realize that it’s a somewhat specialized vehicle and that you can’t just go out and rent a replacement. The crime lab isn’t going to be done with it for a while. You should probably have your insurance agent contact me about arranging for a replacement.”

Ron took the card. “All right,” he said.

“I’ve spoken to your boss, by the way,” Ross said. “Tony Freeman and I have agreed that you’re free to return to work tomorrow morning, if you want to, that is. Of course, if you’d like to take more time off…”

“No,” Ron said. “I’m happy to go back to work. It’s been rough at our house lately. I think everyone there will be thrilled to have me back on some kind of normal schedule.”

“I’ll be going then,” Ross said, heading for the door. “See you when you’re up to it, Beau. And thanks for the coffee, Mel. Are you coming, Harry, or are you going to hang around here all day?”

Harry I. Ball and Lars Jenssen had been caught up in some deep conversation. Harry got up and lumbered after Ross, giving me a half-salute on the way by. “Try to stay out of trouble,” he said.

Ralph came over and deposited a plate of bagels and cream cheese in front of me. Whatever pill Mel had given me was already working. My head felt fuzzy around the edges. My mouth was as dry as toast. I couldn’t imagine being able to choke down a single bite of the bagel without it getting caught in my throat.

“No, thanks, Ralph,” I said. “I’m not hungry.”

“Well, then,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind if I help myself.” And he did.

Ralph dived into his bagel with all the relish of someone who’s never had to worry about his weight. “How long are you going to keep this up?” he asked finally.

“Keep what up?” I asked.

“Keep on working for a living.”

“What would I do instead?”

“I understand your 928 is done for. Why don’t you get yourself a new one? Fly across the pond and pick one up at the factory?”

“In Germany?” I asked.

“Stuttgart, I believe. I understand the factory tour is really terrific.”

“How would I get the time off?” I asked.

“There you are,” Ralph said. “And I rest my case. Quit. When are you going to finally get used to the idea that you don’t have to work for a living?”

“I’ve been a cop all my life,” I said. “I don’t know anything else.”

“Did I ever tell you about the Last Chance, that cold case organization one of my clients bankrolled?”

“Maybe,” I said. “But I’m not sure.” The pill was working overtime. I was getting fuzzier and fuzzier.

“I’ll talk to you about it some other time,” Ralph said. “But you’re getting a little old to be putting people through glass walls—although, from what I understand, Bill Winkler is in a lot worse shape than you are. He whacked his head a good one on a solid concrete floor. Gave himself a pretty nasty concussion. And his girlfriend’s in the slammer, by the way. She probably wishes she were the one in the hospital.”

I tried to focus on what Raelene Landreth would look like in one of King County’s signature orange jail jumpsuits, but I couldn’t make the picture come together in my head.

“Sorry, Ralph,” I said. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I think I’d better go back to bed.”

And I did. I seem to remember that I needed help making it back down the hall and into the bed. Those pills were really something!

The next thing I knew it was 6:00
P
.
M
. A whole day had disappeared on me, and I was starving. I went to my bedroom door and listened. Not a sound, so maybe the house was empty. This time I didn’t bother getting dressed. I pulled on a robe and padded out to the living room. Enough illumination comes into my unit from downtown that I didn’t bother turning on the lights. It wasn’t until I was halfway across the room that I realized I wasn’t alone. Mel Soames, wrapped in Beverly’s afghan, was curled up in my recliner, sound asleep and snoring softly.

I sat down on the window seat and watched her. Most of the women I know regard my beloved recliner with disdain. Mel looked completely at home.

I don’t know how long I sat like that. Suddenly she jerked awake. “How long have you been up?” she asked when she saw me. “What are you doing?”

“Watching you,” I said. “Did anyone ever tell you that you snore?”

“You’re not exactly blameless on that score,” she said. “But I chalked it up to your meds. How long have you been sitting there?”

“A while,” I said.

“Do you want something to eat?”

“I’m hungry enough I could probably tackle one of Ralph’s dead bagels.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Mel said. “When I went home to shower and change clothes, I brought you back some lentil soup from the Mediterranean Kitchen. That should be good for what ails you.”

I followed her into the kitchen and stood out of the way while she heated the food in my microwave, put it in a soup plate, and handed it over. (Had I been left to my own devices, I would probably have heated it in the styrofoam container and eaten it from same. I think I had forgotten I actually owned soup plates.)

“Thank you,” I said.

“I remembered how much you liked the soup the other night.”

“Not just thank you for the soup,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “But if you’re feeling better, maybe I should go so you can get some rest.”

“Rest?” I repeated. “I’ve been resting all day. When I fell asleep I had a houseful of company. Where’d they all go?”

“Home,” she said. “And that’s where I should be, too.”

“Stay for a little while,” I urged. “At least long enough for me to finish my soup, which is delicious, by the way.”

Mel sat down beside me and watched while I ate. It made me feel self-conscious. “You’re not having any?” I asked.

“I already ate,” she said.

So we sat there in silence for a while, but it didn’t seem that uncomfortable. In fact, it felt fine. It made me think about what Beverly had said—about my finding a life and a mate and doing something besides work. I thought about how it had been the last week—sharing work and coffee and soup and hospital waiting rooms with Mel Soames. It had been nice, far nicer than I would have thought possible.

I finished my soup and pushed the plate away. “The last thing I remember was Ralph Ames saying something about my going to Germany to pick up a new Porsche at the factory,” I continued.

“Sounds like fun,” Mel said. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to drive on the autobahn, where there’s no such thing as a speed limit.”

“You’d probably be good at it,” I said. “Take to it like a duck to water.”

“Maybe so,” she said with a smile.

The depth of that smile made me feel all warm and fuzzy. At first I thought the pill might be kicking in again, but even at the time, though, I was smart enough to wonder if it wasn’t something else altogether—something that had the potential for making my grandmother a very happy woman.

Anne Corley had been gone from my life for a long time. Mel Soames wasn’t.